


children of the night, what music we make

by zombiejuju



Series: Saphael Week [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Bands, Coffee Shops, College AU, M/M, Misunderstandings, Music, One-Sided Clary Fray/Simon Lewis, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Saphael Week 2017, mundane AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiejuju/pseuds/zombiejuju
Summary: “Great, cool,” Simon says. He takes them from Raphael, gives them a cursory glance, and rests them above the piano keys. He begins playing, something soft and soothing. Inspired by self-deprecating love ballads from 90s alternative bands, no doubt, “Sounds good. I can get down with this.”





	children of the night, what music we make

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Burn the Flames" (Wednesday 13 cover). Lots of music meta + theory. Small little Maia cameo but not long enough for her to be an actual character (I'm a pleb). Jace is here too but he doesn't really say or do anything (for once). Lots of dialogue, not enough loving.
> 
> Warnings: Some talk about religion (music + Aleister Crowley), self-deprecation and self-esteem problems, sleep disorders, mental illness, and drugs.
> 
> Prompted by: [Saphael Day Week 6](https://fyeahsaphael.tumblr.com/post/164294220131/hii-so-recently-there-has-been-a-lack-of-saphael) (Music/Quotes).

Simon enters the shitfest his university calls a coffee shop. He drops down on a rickety wooden chair, something donated from the elementary school that just closed down, and sighs.

“Careful, Si, you’ll break it,” Clary says, sliding a lukewarm cappuccino his way, “I’ve been waiting forever. Where were you?”

“Grad. Music Theory,” Simon replies. He take a sip of his cappuccino and grimaces in disgust, “This is cold, Clary.”

“I told you. I’ve been waiting forever,” Clary says. She rakes her pale, thin fingers through copper waves, separating strands of her hair, “Anyway. Why are you so pissed then? You love that class.”

“I’m not mad about attending that class, I’m mad about leaving it. None of you plebs ever talk music with me.”

“I talk about music with you!”

“Not as in depth as I’d like.”

Clary rolls her eyes, gulps her iced coffee, and looks to the side of Simon’s head, “What do you expect? You’re a music major. None of our friends will ever care about music as much as you do.”

“It’s a curse to love something so passionately.”

“What about painting? You never talk to me about that.”

“All art aspires to be music, Clary.”

Clary scoffs and stands from the table, grabbing both of their mugs. Walking over to the counter, she places them there to be washed. She returns to their table, grabs her purse from the back of a chair, and slings it over her shoulder, “C’mon. Let’s go back to our dorm. I have 2 projects, a midterm paper, and 4 exams to study for.”

* * *

“Today we’re going to discuss contemporary classics,” Professor Bane says, left palm wrapped around a small remote. The glow of the projector illuminates the sparkles on his black fingernails, “Now, the term ‘contemporary classics’ gives you all the chance to discuss and decide what songs are here to stay. So please, share your favorite songs from within, let’s say, the last thirty years.”

A man two rows in front of Simon raises his hand. Simon can’t make out much of his appearance in the dark, only tan skin and a mop of dark curly hair. Professor Bane nods at the student and the man says, “Radiohead’s ‘Creep’, Avenged Sevenfold’s ‘Beast and the Harlot’, Good Charlotte’s ‘All Black’, and Cradle of Filth’s cover of ‘Mr. Crowley’.”

“My, you’ve given us a lot to dissect. Do you come prepared with that list, Mr. Santiago?”

The man--Mr. Santiago?--snorts and turns his head to the side, “There’s no one in my life who appreciates music the way I do. I have to vent _somewhere_.”

Simon perks up as a murmur of agreement washes over the room.

“Ah yes, well that would be why we’re all in music theory,” Professor Bane says. He walks over to a MacBook Air and types something. YouTube pops up on the projector and he navigates his way to a music video for ‘Creep’, “Now I’m going to play each song. Then, I’ll give Raphael a chance to make his case for why each one is a new classic. Finally, I’ll open the classroom up to either support or criticize his claims. After that, we’ll take a vote on what’s a new classic. Oh, and try not to be distracted by the visuals.”

Once he’s shown all four of the videos, Professor Bane flicks a switch on the wall to brighten the room. He presses a button, turning off the projector, and shuts the MacBook. He turns his back to the class and writes “‘CREEP’ - RADIOHEAD” on the whiteboard.

“For ‘Creep’, it’s simple. It’s not just about the relatable lyrics--and they _are_ relatable for anyone with shit self-esteem that’s ever liked someone so perfect it’s ridiculous--but the crazy guitar riffs. You know the raw ones? They were meant to destroy the song but they became its iconic trademark. And there’s something so _heavy_ , so emotional, so true about the riffs. Something that pulls you in deeper, connects you to the song even more. Easily a 90s alternative theme.”

Professor Bane nods at Raphael and writes “‘BEAST AND THE HARLOT’ - AVENGED SEVENFOLD” beside ‘CREEP’.

“‘Beast and the Harlot’, ‘All Black’, and ‘Mr. Crowley’ are all good for similar reasons: the beginning of each song sounds as if the gates of Hell are opening. Isn’t it impressive how each song has evoked such a hardcore feeling in different ways? Avenged Sevenfold’s work starts off with a demon’s growl and advances into something high paced and metal as fuck. It just makes you want to headbang. There’s something evil about so much auditory adrenaline and the guitar riffs are insane!”

Professor Bane adds “‘ALL BLACK’ - GOOD CHARLOTTE” to the board.

“The piano at the start and end of ‘All Black’ is goth AF. It’s like if a clan of robed vampires gathered in a cemetery. It’s literally the most Goth thing I can imagine. The lyrics are deep and relatable to the outsider and it references some of the greats: The Rolling Stones, Johnny Cash. It’s a love song in its own way. How many songs do you know that fill so many categories in life?”

Professor Bane gazes at Raphael with something akin to pride and writes, finally, “‘MR. CROWLEY’ - CRADLE OF FILTH” on the board, “Impress us, Mr. Santiago. What makes this cover better than the original?”

“It’s deeper than Ozzy, darker, harder, more in tune with the satanic behavior Aleister Crowley was accused of. Let the record show, however, that Crowley was _actually_ an occultist hated by God-fearing people because he aimed to obtain all knowledge, to learn what’s forbidden, to divulge secrets known only to God. Dani Filth’s guttural tone and the women vocalizing in the background add a sinister edge to the song. Then, of course, we’re back to the guitar riff. I’m all about those raw instrumentals. It makes you wanna nod your head along, kind of throw your body into it, lose yourself in it, pump the Devil’s horns.”

“Thank you for the history lesson,” Professor Bane drawls, smirk stretching his lips. His wristwatch beeps, signaling that class is five minutes from ending. His eyes widen in surprise, “Alright, let’s turn this into a little project. I’ll pair you guys up. Discuss--with your partner--whether you agree with Raphael or not. Bring your answers with you to the next class as well as a statement detailing your favorite _actual_ classic. Please make sure the song is over 100 years old.”

“Okay, but…” A girl from the front row starts, raising her hand.

“No, Maia. The oldies do _not_ count.”

* * *

Somehow, someway, Simon ends up partnered with Raphael. While most people would see this as unfortunate because they’re literally going to discuss Raphael’s opinions, Simon feels blessed. Finally, _finally_ , he gets to have an in depth conversation with someone about music. And, thankfully, Simon likes half of the songs Raphael mentioned in class.

They’re sitting in Simon’s bedroom just staring at each other. Well, Simon’s actually taking Raphael in for the first time. Glistening golden skin, sharp dark eyes rimmed in black liner, eyebrows arched in a steep slant. His eyelashes must be defined by black mascara, Simon thinks, and his plump, curvaceous lips have to be getting assistance from some honey toned lipgloss. Raphael’s wearing some obscure band tee and black skinny jeans that have seen better days. And, because they’re sitting cross legged on Simon’s bed, Raphael only has black, holey socks on his feet. His big toes stick out of the cotton.

Raphael’s not really _just_ staring at him either. He’s glaring at Simon with an air of superior indifference. Simon doesn’t mind. He’s used to pretty people like Raphael looking down on him.

Simon coughs, clearing his throat, “So, what you said in class, about nobody else appreciating music like you do. I totally get that.”

“I doubt it.”

“No, seriously. I was literally just complaining about that to my roommate Clary.”

“What, does she refuse to understand the depths of the latest Taylor Swift single?”

“Actually, Beethoven and AWOLNATION,” Simon says. His insides are caved in, confidence and excitement abandoning him. Raphael’s glare shifts into something softer but Simon can still see a glint of skepticism in his eyes, “Anyway, I took notes on some of the stuff you said in class.”

“What’s your favorite Beethoven song?”

“‘Für Elise’. You?”

“‘Moonlight Sonata’.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, it goes with your whole,” Simon starts, waving his hands in frantic motions to encompass Raphael’s entire being, “Edgy, goth thing.”

“It’s not a _thing_ …”

“It’s not a phase, mom,” Simon mocks. Raphael’s expression hardens, face returning to its stoicism.

“ _That_ has nothing to do with my taste in Beethoven. I like ‘Moonlight Sonata’ because it’s _peaceful_ . It helps me focus and relax. And as an insomniac, I can relate to it. The moon was basically my sun for the better part of my life. Plus, it pairs perfectly with van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ ,” Raphael squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Simon stares at Raphael’s fingernails, immaculately groomed and covered in neat black paint. Raphael opens his eyes again, gaze locking with Simon’s, “Let me guess: your love for Für Elise’ is due to some tragic, pathetic tale where you loved someone who didn’t love you back.”

“ _Actually_ ,” Simon starts, “I feel bad for Beethoven. I mean, yeah, I can relate, but it’s actually about sympathy and not empathy. He perfectly captures feeling in his compositions. The joy and heartbreak of unrequited love. When you love someone so much you forget that they don’t love you back. You enjoy their company and push yourself to make them happy. That’s in the lighter sections of ‘Für Elise’. And when it gets dark and broody, that’s when you remember that they’re not _yours_ , and you’re melancholy again. Nobody should ever have to feel like that.”

Raphael quirks an eyebrow at Simon, “Impressive. You’re not like the others.”

“Did you mean for that to sound like something a creepy vampire would say? Because it totally did.”

Raphael scoffs, “Favorite AWOLNATION song?”

“‘Not Your Fault’. It’s sweet and a little self-deprecating. Plus, I think it’s the perfect apology song for when you’re just having a bad day and you fuck up one of your relationships. You?”

“‘Sail’...”

“I thought you were some kind of special snowflake.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Raphael says, tone even, “‘Sail’ but the Unlimited Gravity Remix. It’s like someone mixed a meltdown, a head trip, and the feeling of falling all into one song.”

Simon beams, eyes shining with pure delight, “Wow.”

“What?” Raphael’s glare breaks into something timid and unsure.

“I’ve just never had such a great conversation with someone about music. I really liked that, even with all the arguing.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m just pissed because I love music so much but I can’t play a single instrument to save my life.”

“But…” Simon starts, eyes widening and mouth open in a soundless gasp, “You’re a music major?”

“Composition.”

“Perfect, we’ll make a great team,” Simon says, standing from his bed.

Simon looks around his room for a minute, gaze roving frantically, until they connect with a keyboard he’s tucked behind his dresser and a guitar leaning against the wall. He grabs the guitar and brings it over to his bed, resting it carefully on his pillows. Then he walks back over to his dresser, grabs the keyboard, and drags it over to his bed. He hoists himself up onto the mattress and crosses his legs. Putting a pillow in his lap, he places the keyboard on top of it.

“I can’t write music for shit but I can play piano and guitar and write lyrics. Compose for me.”

Raphael blushes and focuses on the task of retrieving some worn pages of sheet music from his overstuffed book bag. He holds them out in offering to Simon.

“Great, cool,” Simon says. He takes them from Raphael, gives them a cursory glance, and rests them above the piano keys. He begins playing, something soft and soothing. Inspired by self-deprecating love ballads from 90s alternative bands, no doubt, “Sounds good. I can get down with this.”

* * *

Raphael follows Simon into their university’s rinky dink coffee shop and moves to the table where Clary, Jace, and Izzy are sitting. Simon sits beside Clary, Raphael taking the seat to his left, and points at him, “This is Raphael. Thanks to him, I’m finally free from talking to you peasants about music.”

“Thank you, Raphael,” Izzy says immediately, sticking her hand out. He grasps it firmly in his own and gives it a single shake, “You’ve freed us from listening to Simon ramble on and on about how nobody pays attention to the deeper meaning of  _ every _ single song.”

“Is that the guy you’ve been sneaking into our dorm at night?” Clary asks.

“Shu’p,” Simon responds, blush blossoming on his cheeks. He stands, grabs Raphael’s hand, and starts tugging him to a table in the corner, “We’ll be working on music together. So...leave us be.”

“Alright, Simon,” Izzy says. She waves them off, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Clary chances a glance at them, smirking when she sees that Simon and Raphael are kissing in the corner. She scoffs, turns back to Izzy and Jace, and mumbles, “Working my ass.”


End file.
